Her words were picked up down the line. “Here they come, angel,” Shirley echoed in a tense undertone.
“Here they come,” said Word Perkins, and snorted.
“Here who comes?” I asked Rain, but she was too busy peering over the top of the fence we were crouching behind to pay attention to me. Willing my joints to defrost, I rose to my knees and looked over the top of the fence. I could see the headlights of cars creeping slowly around a curve about a kilometer down the highway. Rain started counting out loud in a voice that indicated her jaw muscles were frozen. “One, two, three, four, Jesus, five, six, holy Christ, seven, eight, nine. Seven carloads full of goddamn cops! The big headlights behind must be the flatbeds with the bulldozers. Who do
